A Vampire for Christmas(71)
He knew she could not leave her station without making enough money to satisfy the barkeep, who was also the demanding owner of the saloon. Reaching for the bag of coins on his belt, he pulled it off and eased it into her free hand. “Will that be enough for you to go with me right now for a talk?”
She hefted the weight of it in her hands and narrowed her eyes. Shot a quick glance over her shoulder at the barkeep, who watched them intently. “In a rush? Afraid the Devil’s got your number?”
Damien had tempted Fate and probably the Devil more than once in his life. With his father denying his existence and abandoning his mother, Damien had been forced to survive in any way he could. Legal or illegal didn’t matter. It was too tough to worry about rules when hunger was gnawing a hole in your belly.
Much like desire for Angelina was burning through his gut just now.
I’m an impatient man,” he admitted and a moment of déjà vu flitted over him. It occurred to him then that he was being forced to relive his earliest encounter with Angelina, almost word for word, although why he did not know. Was it some kind of penance for his past actions?
It’s a chance for you to prove that you are not the man you once were, said a voice in his head, a message from the Angelina who was bringing him this view into a Christmas Eve Past.
Damien? Are you okay?” asked the Angelina of his vision, her eyes narrowed as she considered him.
He shook his head to drive away the conflicting thoughts. Eager to be alone with her, he said, “I’m okay, love. Can we go?”
Well, I’ve got another half an hour before break. You’ll have to cool your heels until then to talk,” she said with a wink and a sly glance down to his lap, where his erection already strained the fabric of his pants.
She rushed away, but not before allowing her generous breasts to slip along his body once again, causing his body to jump in anticipation.
He grabbed his pint of rum and took a long swallow. The cheap alcohol burned his throat while he watched her attend to the other customers. Mindlessly, he shoveled the chicken and rice into his mouth, his hunger elsewhere.
Every now and again she would glance his way and smile knowingly. If she came close to him, she made a point of making contact. Another teasing brush of her breasts or of a womanly hip. The caress of her hand along the nape of his neck. So soft despite her labors.
And her scent. That intoxicating irresistible scent of home, it finally occurred to him. Her perfume brought back memories of the small cottage just outside of Philadelphia where he had lived with his mother before her untimely death.
That recollection quenched his desire somewhat, but as he took another long pull on his drink and Angelina swept by once more, those rounded hips swaying as if she was already riding him, the heat of passion rekindled in his gut and drove away all other thoughts.
When she laid down her tray and approached him, he rushed to her side, impatient desire in control.
She held out her hand and he took it, following her to the small hallway leading to the rooms for hire. But they had gone no farther than a few feet down that hallway when he hauled her to him, needing the feel of all those feminine curves against him. Wanting to bury himself in her then and there.
He backed her into the wall and her eyes widened, dilated with passion. He reached beneath her skirt and trailed his hand up the satiny skin of her leg until he was at her center.
She wore no underwear, he discovered, although he refused to think about how many other men also knew that fact.
He skimmed his hand across the silken curls at her core. Felt the heat and wet of her beneath his fingers as he slipped them along her cleft. When she rocked her hips against his hand and urged him on with a husky moan, he nearly came undone.
Upstairs, love. Not like this,” he said, something he had not said during that long-ago encounter. He didn’t want to take her like he would a cheap slut. She meant more to him than that.
No sooner had the thought come to his consciousness when an immense pull erupted in his center, like someone yanking at his soul. He murmured a protest, wanting to remain with Angelina, but to no avail.
Damien once again experienced the rush of flying through the air and falling, endlessly it seemed, before he landed roughly on hard wood again. This time the floor of his bedroom.
He sat naked on the cold floorboards, and in front of his eyes the scene from the saloon continued to play out, showing him what had really happened. Showing him, painfully, the man he had been back then.
Damien hadn’t taken Angelina up to a room. He hadn’t treated her with care or love.